“There’s a batch of beaten biscuits on the stove.” I wanted to be hospitable, so I didn’t tell him they didn’t turn out and Mama’s were better. “Can I get you a plate, Mr. Morgan?”
“Thanks, just coffee,” he said.
After I served him a cup, he asked me to sit down at the table.
“You sure are a long way from anybody. Had to get John to bring me over because I thought I’d never find it again on my own.”
I was grateful that I was a far piece from town and hoping it would keep me safer and away from the prying eyes of the court.
“How’s that job going?”
“It’s going well. Folk seem to be real happy to have the service back.” I hesitated. “Most folk.” I didn’t want to tell him about Perry Gillis, in case it caused me trouble with the law.
“That’s good.” Mr. Morgan took a sip of his coffee and set it back on the table. “I’ve been thinking about our last visit back in March. And especially about our recent telephone conversation—what you said about your freedom and the McDaniel case. It made me think, and I discussed what you said with a few close colleagues. They thought you were pretty smart. Damn brilliant even.”
Pleased with his compliment, I squirmed in my seat, dropping my coloring hands into my lap.
He took another sip and studied me over the rim of Retta’s teacup.
“So, Honey, I’ve had a chance to think over your concerns, specifically your question of why the law would allow you to marry—”
I shook my head, tightening my mouth. “Ain’t marrying Carson, Mr. Morgan. It’d be like, well, it’d be like marrying my brother.” My voice rose, and I jumped up and grabbed the newspaper from the shelf, opened it to the death notices and smacked it down in front of him.
“I want that,” I tapped on the old print. “What fourteen-year-old Byrne McDaniel got. Freedom.”
The lawyer glanced at the newspaper and pushed it aside. “Honey, I didn’t come here to get you hitched to anyone. I came here to say that your concerns are valid and maybe we can do something to get you the right answer—your freedom.”
I held my breath, waiting while he took another gulp of coffee.
“Now, Honey, there might be a chance. It’s like you told me last month. You’ve got yourself a fine home here, an important and respectable job with steady income. You’re pretty smart, and I like the way you think”—he pointed at me—“and the mature way you’ve handled things. And, you know what, maybe Judge Norton might think so too. I’m going to propose we seek your emancipation. Would you like that?”
“Emancipation.” I breathed, yearning for it.
“You would no longer need a guardian under the law, and you would be allowed to be on your own. You don’t even need your father’s permission since he’s incarcerated, but of course, it would help and be more respectable if you had it. I will advise you, though, that the courts have been particular about how they grant it.”
“Why?” I worried.
“Children, especially those in rural areas, are a valuable commodity to a father who needs farm labor or any help around the homestead without having to pay wages. So goods and service always apply first in the courts.”
“But I’m not a commodity, sir.”
“No, at the moment you’re certainly not. You’re working to support yourself. But legally, children are considered the invisible commodity of the father. Let’s see.” He looked around the room and his eyes landed on the calendar hanging on the wall. “Today’s April 6, and I think I can get something drafted in a few weeks. Then I can file an application with the court for the emancipation of Honey Lovett. Hopefully have a court date within the next month or two. I’ve talked with Mr. Greene, and he feels Social Services shouldn’t complain too hard. You’re not costing them a nickel being on your own.”